Capturing the Cop. Michele Dunaway
glad to see that she blushed, a delightful pink that spread across her face and almost matched her sweater. Miss Proposition wasn’t as sure of herself as she had seemed. His cop’s instinct noticed the incongruity and found it intriguing.
“I—” she began.
He didn’t give her the chance to back down. “Do you fit my criteria?” He reached under the divider and withdrew the crumpled scrap of notebook paper. “Let’s see, shall we? You appear to be between twenty-six and thirty-four.”
“I’m thirty,” the girl said.
She fidgeted with her fingers, and he noticed that she’d recently had a manicure.
“Thirty, huh?” He would have guessed she was much younger. Maybe because she didn’t have on much makeup and wore that infernal headband. Then again, unlike his ex-wife, adornments for her weren’t essential; she had a natural beauty, something internal, which he now knew Brenda had always lacked. He shifted his weight.
“Single or divorced?”
She coughed as she said, “Single.”
“Look at me.” She complied, and this time he decided her eyes were the most interesting shade of baby blue, even lighter than his. He tamped down immediate desire. Sure, he’d been celibate since his divorce, but his mission wasn’t about desiring the counter girl. He had a quest to complete. The sooner he got the guys off his back, the sooner his life would return to normal.
“So, how are you with erratic work shifts, kids, quiet family life and cats?”
Her chin lifted defiantly. “I work full-time, my sister has two kids and my brother’s baby is six months old. My family life is quiet and I had a seal-point Siamese when I was growing up.”
“Then you’ll be perfect.” Even he heard the hoarse undertone in his voice.
“Yes.”
Her chin trembled briefly, and the movement fascinated Garrett. Unlike the other women who’d propositioned him, she acted almost regretful. She was also cute and quaint, yet still downright sexy. Definitely kissable.
The paradox interested him. With her sweater and pearls she was a walking advertisement for prim and proper.
Somehow he couldn’t picture the woman in front of him even exposing her navel in public the way some women did. Yet despite her classic clothes and reserved demeanor, she was doing something to his libido.
The way her lips parted like that. Without even recognizing she was making the movement, her tongue flicked out and wet her bottom lip. Garrett groaned inwardly. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to break down the glass barrier between them and plant his lips on hers.
Maybe Cliff was correct. Maybe Garrett should get back in the saddle.
He pushed the Mound City Monitor classified ad form back toward her, the gesture providing his body some much-needed respite. “Since I need a date and you’ve offered, I guess I won’t be using this.” She blinked, and this time her long dark brown eyelashes held him captive.
“You won’t?”
He gave her his best bad-boy grin. “No. I’ll be using your phone number, instead.”
“Oh.”
Her face pinkened again, and Garrett’s body ignored his brain and went into overdrive. He’d never thought pink a sexy color, but darn if he wasn’t curious about what her body would be like naked and all pink from lovemaking, her flesh hot with the sheen of two bodies becoming one.
He inhaled a deep breath, trying to regain some control. Making love wasn’t part of his game plan. He didn’t need a woman in his life, or a one-night stand, no matter how sexy the counter girl was and no matter how long he’d been without. Cliff could keep his saddles-are-for-riding analogy. One date would get Garrett’s life in order and the guys on the force off his back. He gathered his wits.
“I guess we should properly introduce ourselves. I’m Garrett.” He put his hand into the slot.
“Olivia,” she said. She reached forward and touched his.
The moment their hands connected, a spark shocked him. Wow. Static in July? Her wide, beautiful blue eyes told him that she’d felt the spark, too. He dropped her hand and placed his in the back pocket of his jeans, the safest spot he could think of for the moment.
“Well, Olivia, as pleasant as this has been, I have to get home and feed my cat. He gets cantankerous when he’s not fed on time. May I call you so we can arrange our date?”
“Yes.” Her voice gave an enchanting squeak and she nodded. She grabbed a blank piece of paper, took a pen and scribbled down her first name and two phone numbers. She held the sheet out to him. “Home and cell,” she offered.
“Great. I’ll call you soon,” Garrett said.
“Okay,” she said, now seeming shell-shocked at the turn of events.
He hummed as he exited the Monitor office, deliberately leaving the handwritten classified ad behind on the counter.
OLIVIA WATCHED as Garrett moved out of sight. Had he really just asked her out? Had she really propositioned him? Surely this had been some daydream. Some fantasy.
Man, she hadn’t even closed her eyes. Would she look like an idiot if she pinched herself?
“So how did it go? Sorry I took so long. I stopped and got some candy. Did he place an ad?”
Chrissy’s return reminded Olivia that Garrett’s presence hadn’t been a daydream, and she snaked her hand forward and snatched the piece of paper that Garrett had left behind. She crumpled it and the ad form and dropped both into the wastebasket before Chrissy saw anything.
Olivia put on her best wistful expression as Chrissy returned to the counter. “He changed his mind.”
“Oh.” Chrissy sighed wistfully. “The good ones always do.” She dug into the file cabinet and brought out a calendar. “So what did he want?”
“Just some information,” Olivia answered vaguely. Her religious parents had raised her not to lie, but her PR training let her stretch the truth a little. He had wanted information. Her phone number.
The bad girl could do penance later.
“That’s too bad,” Chrissy said. “I bet he’d make some woman pretty happy. I mean, look at him.”
Olivia glanced at the calendar. Now her PR training failed. There, in full-gloss color, one foot on a police-car bumper, stood her man.
He made Erik Estrada in his CHIPs heyday look like a nerd.
Garrett wore his dress uniform and a come-hither smile that could melt chocolate. He dangled handcuffs from his left hand.
“He’s the only one not showing any skin, but he doesn’t need to, does he?” Chrissy blew out a breath of air. “He’s Mr. August, so I can stare at him all next month. And you should see some of the other guys.” Chrissy flipped through the pages quickly. “I had to buy this calendar—after all, it was for charity.”
She held up the photo of another guy, this one a fire-fighter, bare-chested and wearing suspenders and his firefighting pants. “Twelve months of yum.”
Chrissy turned back to Mr. August—Garrett, Olivia thought, remembering his name. He’d be on display for thirty-one days next month.
“He was just as good in person,” Chrissy continued. “If I wasn’t married I’d let him cuff me anytime. Heck, I’d put 911 on speed-dial if he showed up when I called. Wouldn’t you?”
Olivia giggled, her laugh due to from the hysterical combination of having a date with the man and Chrissy’s silly behavior. “You’re funny.”
“Yeah, I know,” Chrissy said with a grin. “Some things don’t change.”